


New Year's Regrets

by whumphoarder



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Buzzed Bruce Banner, Concussions, Drinking, Exasperated Tony Stark, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Head Injury, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Mentor/Protégé, Peter Parker Whump, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 01:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17214626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: In the midst of hosting his annual New Year’s party, Tony is called away to rescue a very impaired Peter from a rooftop in Queens.





	New Year's Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Mega thanks to [Sally0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally0/pseuds/Sally0) for beta reading and just generally being lovely <3

“So I take the tank, fly it right up to the general’s palace, drop it at his feet,” Rhodey recounts. “I’m like, ‘Boom! You looking for this?’”

As the gathered crowd breaks into laughter, Rhodey shoots a grin at Tony, who is standing about ten feet away and leaning against the bar. _Still got it_ , the colonel mouths.

Tony just rolls his eyes and flips his friend off. He peers into his half-empty glass, wishing the amber liquid inside was something a bit stronger than the apple juice he’s currently sipping. But he’s been really _trying_ lately.

A moment later, Tony’s pocket starts buzzing. He frowns and fishes his phone out. There are only a handful of people for whom he’s authorized FRIDAY to let calls through while he’s hosting his annual New Year’s Eve party, and two of them are currently in the room.

He presses the accept call button as he slips out onto the balcony. “What’s up, kid?” he says into the phone. “You having a nice New Year’s?”

The voice on the other end comes back confused, like someone awoken from a deep sleep. “Wha…?”

Tony frowns. “Peter?”

“Oh. Hey… Mis’t’r Stark. What, uh, wha’ d’you need?”

“You called _me_ , genius,” Tony quips, but he’s still frowning at the obvious impairment in the kid’s voice.

“Oh…” is Peter’s only reply.

“Where are you?” Tony asks, as though he’s not already having FRIDAY track the kid’s phone.

“I’m… out.” Peter giggles a bit. “Outside. 'S’New Year’s.”

Tony relaxes somewhat and lets out a long sigh. He’s always known this day would come—hell, he’d been the one to institute the ‘call me anytime you need a ride home’ rule—but he’d been hoping the kid would give it a couple more years at least. “So you went to a party after all, I take it?”

“...There’s a party?” Peter sounds confused.

Tony scoffs, “I’ll say.”

“Hm. Where?”

“Some rooftop in Queens, according to FRIDAY,” Tony replies, looking at the data he’s just pulled up on his watch. “Having a good time?”

“Ughh… Don’ think so,” Peter groans. “‘M’head hurts.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Already?” It’s barely half an hour past midnight, but he wonders if maybe the kid’s spider metabolism has burned through the alcohol already and jumped straight to the after effects. He winces in sympathy—that’s really gonna suck in the coming years.

“Mm…” Peter grunts. “Don’ feel good.”

Tony sighs. Not really how he’d expected this night to go, but also far from the worst New Year’s he’s had. “You got a ride home, kid?”

Except for the faint sound of a car alarm beeping in the background, there’s silence on the other end.

“Peter?” Tony prompts again.

“Wha…?” Peter slurs. It’s followed by a choked gagging sound that can only mean one thing.

Tony squeezes his eyelids shut and presses his fist to them. “You’re throwing up, aren’t you?”

The only response is a few whimpers and then another retch.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony mutters, running his hand over his face. “You really went all out.” He can’t even send Happy since the man is in Chicago visiting his sister for the holidays. “Alright, I’m on my way,” he assures.

“Mmh...” Peter grunts in acknowledgment before disconnecting the call.

**X**

Tony opts to take the Iron Man suit rather than fight traffic less than 45 minutes after the ball dropped in Times Square, on the basis that one, it’s faster, and two, it’s significantly easier to hose vomit off of a metal suit than the custom leather interior of his car. His plan is to crash the party and whisk his intoxicated protégé back to the Tower to sleep it off in one of the guest rooms before Pepper realizes he’s left hosting duties to her. Yet again.

He soars over the city, following the path FRIDAY has illuminated for him. He’s expecting to start seeing lights or hearing music blaring pretty soon, but frowns as he draws nearer to the dark rooftop of what appears to be a parking garage.

“FRI? You sure this is right?” he mutters as he approaches.

“Yes, boss,” she confirms. “Peter’s phone is located near the southwest corner of the structure.”

Tony flies over the rows of parked cars, peering between them for any signs of life. Finally he spots the crumpled form of a red and blue clad teenager sprawled out on the ground near the edge of the building between a beat-up Honda Civic and a silver Lexus.

Tony’s boots touch down on the rooftop with a clink. “Christ, kid,” he mutters. “So not only did you sneak out to patrol while May is at her company holiday party, but you apparently disabled your suit’s tracker. Again.” He retracts his helmet and crouches down next to the boy.

Peter’s mask is half pulled up over his face and a puddle of vomit sits beside his head. “...M’s’tr Stark?” he slurs before turning his head to the side and gagging again. When he’s done, he clutches his head and moans.

All traces of humor dissolve from Tony’s features. “FRIDAY, scan him,” he commands. “Is he safe to move?”

While the AI does her thing, Tony peers closer at Peter, for the first time realizing the kid’s suit is darkened and slightly singed over his chest and side. “What the hell happened?” he demands. “Are these… _burn marks_?”

“Robbery. ATM. Was swingin’…” Peter mumbles. He makes a small gesture with his hands, like something exploding. “Then… poof.”

“Poof?” Tony repeats.

The kid giggles a bit. “Poof.”

FRIDAY cuts in, “Scan complete, boss. Moderate concussion and first degree burns to the torso detected, but no skull fractures or spinal damage. He is safe to move.”

“Great.” Tony exhales deeply and runs an exasperated hand over his face. He looks down at the kid on the ground in front of him. “Why couldn’t you just go out and get drunk like a normal teenager?” he implores.

Peter squints up at him. “‘Cus ‘s’bad for you…” he mumbles.

“Oh yeah, the vigilante life is much better for your health.” Tony rolls his eyes. “FRIDAY, I feel like I’m gonna regret this, but initiate Baby Monitor protocol. Start with the last two hours.”

The helmet reconstructs itself around Tony’s head and images from Peter’s bodycam come into focus before his eyes. He fast forwards through the beginning of Peter’s patrol until the screen suddenly erupts in a burst of light.

“Whoa, go back,” he instructs the AI. “Play that again, speed at twenty-five percent.”

The video rewinds and then the scene replays much slower. After a few moments, the camera view changes from swinging steadily between buildings to capture a small explosion of light and color. Then the web snaps and Peter drops from the sky, slamming onto the parking garage below.

Tony is speechless for a second. He stares down at the injured teenager on the ground. “Did… Did you get hit by a fucking _firework_?”

Peter groans, “Think it was the other way around...”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters. “What am I going to do with you?”

**X**

What he ends up doing is wrapping Peter’s floppy arms around his neck and hauling the kid up, bridal style, to fly them both the short way back to the tower. It takes only a few minutes, but the movement doesn’t seem to be helping and Peter pukes twice more in that time.

“God, how are you not empty yet?” Tony questions as Peter retches over his mentor’s shoulder. He’s keeping up his light, sarcastic air, but there’s a growing concern in the pit of his stomach.

“Uhhg…” Peter moans back. “S’rry. Feel sick.”

“I gathered that much,” Tony replies worriedly. He sends a message ahead for Cho to meet them in the medical wing.

They arrive at the tower and Tony steps out of the suit. He escorts the wobbly teenager in past the muffled music issuing from the party to his private elevator, and then up to Medbay. It’s not nearly as well equipped as the medical facility at the compound, but it will have to do.

Bruce is standing there waiting for them, his suit jacket removed and his tie hanging loose around his neck.

Tony guides the boy in to sit on the closest bed. “Where’s Cho?” he asks.

“Last I checked she was downstairs doing tequila shots with Thor,” Bruce says with a chuckle, undoing the buttons on his wrists so he can roll his shirt sleeves up. “She wasn’t exactly on call tonight. None of us were.”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, I guess that was a bit of an oversight.” He takes in his friend’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “You good? Or should I make some calls and see if we can get him into SHIELD?”

“Nooo…” Peter groans in protest, pulling his legs up on the mattress and turning sideways to lay down. “Don’t wanna go...”

Tony can’t say that he blames the kid; SHIELD Medical is a nightmare. Not that the doctors aren’t good—they’re excellent—but the bedside manner is more than a little lacking, and there’s just _so much_ paperwork.

“I think I’m alright.” Bruce glances up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, what’s my BAC?”

“Your blood alcohol content is 0.07%,” she reports.

Tony shrugs at him. “Good enough to drive, good enough to doctor, right?”

Bruce returns the shrug. He turns his attention to Peter, who is curled up on the bed now, face screwed up and clutching his head in obvious discomfort. “Cho didn’t give me any details, but from the looks of him I’m guessing a head injury?”

Tony hums affirmatively and takes a mini Starkpad out of his suit jacket to pull up the bodycam footage while Bruce shines a penlight in Peter’s eyes to check his pupils. Peter flinches at the sudden brightness. Then the doctor runs a finger side to side across Peter’s field of vision to track his eye movements.

Once Bruce has completed his little exam, Tony projects the video off the screen and out into the room. When it gets to the explosion and subsequent fall, Bruce balks at the screen.

“Was that a…?” the scientist starts.

“Firework, yes,” Tony confirms with a snort of amusement. “Happy fucking New Year.”

Bruce barks out a sharp laugh. At Tony’s raised eyebrows, he quickly sobers. “Sorry. I mean, that had to hurt, but…”

Peter interrupts their banter with a moan, followed by a dry heave. Bruce jumps into action, grabbing one of the plastic bins from a nearby shelf and shoving it under the kid’s chin. Nothing comes up, and eventually Peter collapses back onto the bed, looking utterly miserable.

“Yeah, he’s been doing that,” Tony remarks. “Puked a couple times on the way over.”

Bruce frowns. “We should get him a CT scan. Nausea is common with a concussion, but actual vomiting is a little concerning.”

“Nah… ‘m’kay…” Peter mumbles, eyes closed.

“We’ll let your mildly buzzed doctor here be the judge of that,” Tony retorts.

Bruce rolls his eyes at his friend. “As if  _you’re_  completely sober.”

“Believe it or not, I actually am,” Tony huffs. “Getting a jump on my New Year’s resolution.” He presses the spider insignia on Peter’s suit and the material loosens, allowing the two men to shimmy Peter out of the suit. It definitely took the brunt of the burn damage from the firework, Tony notes with a measure of relief, but Peter still whimpers a bit as they carefully peel the fabric away from his bruised and slightly pink side.

Once the scan is complete, they move Peter—now dressed in a hospital gown—back into a bed. Tony sits next to him, his hand running idly through Peter’s curls while Bruce looks over the results.

Just then, the Medbay doors swing open and Pepper strides in, her high heels clicking across the tile. She’s still dressed in her sparkly black gown and her expression is unreadable.

Tony jumps up immediately, causing Peter to whimper at the loss of contact. “Shit, the party! Honey, I can explain, I didn’t—”

She rolls her eyes at her fiancé. “Save it, Tony,” she mutters, but there’s no actual heat there. “Thor and Cho are hosting now.” Her gaze falls on Peter and she softens. “Is he alright?”

“He will be,” Tony says quickly. “Right, Brucie?”

Bruce nods, flipping around the screen to display the images of Peter’s head. “CT scan shows no bleeding in his brain or skull fractures that FRIDAY missed. With his healing, he should be fine after a day or two of rest, given that he stops picking fights with Roman Candles.”

Pepper opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but no actual words come out. She closes it again. “You know, I don’t think I want to know,” she concludes.

Tony rubs his hand at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s probably better that way,” he agrees.

Peter suddenly sits up and gags at the empty plastic tub again. He brings up a bit of bile this time. Tony grimaces and places a hand on the kid’s back.

Bruce frowns, looking back at the scans in his hand. “That’s the only part of this that’s concerning me. His injuries really don’t warrant all this vomiting.”

Pepper smirks at the two baffled men. “You geniuses really can’t figure it out?”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Figure what out?”

Peter spits out one last string of saliva and moans, letting an arm wrap around his stomach. “Don’ tell Aunt May…”

Bruce gives him a sympathetic look. “Peter, I know you don’t like to worry your aunt, but she needs to know about your concussion so she can monitor you over the next few days.”

“Nooo not that,” Peter groans. He shifts his gaze to Pepper, a pleading look in his eyes. “Ms. Potts?” he whimpers.

Still smirking as though she knows something Tony doesn’t, she steps closer to the bed. “What is it, Peter?”

“Didn’t mean to. Was jus’ kinda sad and people say it helps,” Peter murmurs. “Holidays since Ben are kinda…”

Tony watches Pepper’s smirk fade into a sad sort of smile. “I know, hon,” she says softly, taking over Tony’s job of stroking her fingers through the kid’s hair. “It’s alright, May won’t be too mad at you. Just maybe next time you decide to polish off her bottle of”—she sniffs twice, wrinkling up her nose—“ _peppermint schnapps_ , don’t go out and get a concussion afterward.”

Bruce shudders a bit while Tony just heaves out a sigh and slaps a hand to his face in exasperation. “Really, kid?” Tony groans. “Couldn’t you at least try something with a little more class?”

“Sorry…” Peter mumbles.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Pepper says with a little laugh. Turning back to Tony she says, “Now you really need to get back to your party before Thor discovers your stash of hundred-year-old single malt and goes to town.”

“Yeah,” Tony mutters, moving away from the bed. “Good point.” He glances back. “Bruce, you staying or coming?”

“I’ll stay a while,” Bruce replies, nodding to his patient. “He shouldn’t be alone just yet, and he could probably use an IV anyway.”

Peter looks distraught. “Oh ‘m sorry Dr. Banner…” he moans. “I don’t mean to make you miss the party…” He screws up his face in thought. “...You can take me with you?”

“Over my dead body, kid,” Tony scoffs. He adds under his breath, “Though next time, you’ll definitely be trying something better than _schnapps_ , Jesus Christ…”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically a crack fic that my friend and I came up with at 2am while lying in bed dying laughing (I apologize for any gross medical inaccuracies).
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! Or if you wanna hang out, hit me up on tumblr at [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/) :D


End file.
